


see you at the top

by tau



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Choking, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Episode 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tau/pseuds/tau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bang doesn't register over the blood roaring through his skull, yet it floods through him like lightning, igniting his nerves, into his fingertips. It’s only when he sees the dark pool forming on the polished floor that he realizes what he’s just done.</p>
<p>"That's it, Rhysie. Couldn't have done it better myself." Jack’s laughter rings in his ears. "You can feel it, can't you? That rush through your veins? That's power, baby."</p>
<p>Rhys still has a lot to learn. Luckily for him, Jack is more than willing to get hands on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	see you at the top

“Something bothering you, kiddo?"

Rhys glances up from where he's been pacing circles into the floor of Jack's — _his_ — absurdly ostentatious office as Jack's clear blue figure blinks onto the screen overhead. It’s still a sight he’s trying to get used to — Jack, not just buried in his head, but right there in the very skeleton of Helios, larger than life, looking as if he’s always belonged there.

It’s all a bit surreal, actually. It’s everything and nothing like he expected it to be. He's still pinching himself.

Jack’s image stares back at him expectantly, like he doesn’t need an answer but is waiting for one anyway. Not even a month ago, Rhys wouldn’t even have dared imagine himself rolling his eyes at Handsome Jack, but here he is, in Jack’s old office, where nothing seems quite so far-fetched in comparison, and rolling his eyes is exactly what he does. "How’d you guess?"

"Well, there's the fact that you look like you're trying to dig a hole into my shiny floor with your shoes — which won't work, by the way, my floor is everything-proof — _and_ you look like you just got chewed up and spit out by a giant skag." Jack pauses, appraising eyes combing over Rhys. "What I'm saying is, you look like an idiot."

"Gee, thanks, I wasn't being sarcastic at all."

“No problem, babe.” Jack beams back at him in amusement, creases forming at the edges of his mask, and Rhys just rolls his eyes again, settling himself onto the corner of his desk with a sigh. Better than walking more circles into the floor, he figures, especially if Jack’s decided to show his face around.

The screen flickers with an audible buzz and goes dead. Before Rhys can appreciate the silence, Jack reappears next to him against the desk, crossing his arms and fixing him with a slanted look. "So, what's up with my favorite former meatbag? Those Pandoran girls getting you down?"

Straight to the point and right on target, Rhys notes. Jack is brutally efficient when he needs to be, in that casual, flippant way of his, and Rhys would admire it if he wasn’t the one under scrutiny. Instead, he bites the inside of his lip and focuses his gaze elsewhere. “They don’t want to talk to me.”

“Uhuh. It’s a shame. Not really surprising though. You did leave them in that holding cell.”

“That was _your_ fault,” Rhys snaps back. Fiona hadn’t even looked at him, Sasha’s eyes had been stony as she joined Fiona in the far corner of the cell, and neither of them even had to say anything for him to hear the confused and angry questions they would never ask. Even Gortys had remained pointedly silent as she was carried off by Hyperion researchers at Jack’s insistence. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him.

It sucked, but he knows better than to expect Jack to get it.

“Whoa, hey, I never said it was a bad thing,” Jack says, raising his hands. “You couldn’t have just let them run around Helios. That’s just asking for a kick in the nuts and a bullet to your head.”

“I just… wanted to explain.” Rhys waves his hands helplessly, drags his metal one through his hair. “You know, that I’m not trying to be the bad guy.”

The words sound lame even as they leave his lips, but he's still startled when Jack laughs in response, a rumble of his shoulders, deep and smooth. It's a laugh that seems to catch and hold onto every corner of the room, ricochet off and amplify a hundredfold. Rhys doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything like it.

And then it stops just as suddenly, leaving an odd void in its wake. Jack leans in close and Rhys watches him, watches the way the expression on Jack’s face shifts and smooths over into something serious.

“Oh Rhysie,” Jack says with a shake of his head, “take it from me: the hero is _never_ understood.”

_That_ makes Rhys pause. He’s no stranger to Jack’s mercurial moods, as random and fleeting as his sudden appearances down on Pandora, doesn’t pay them much mind when most of the time the masks slips into something else too quickly anyways. But this suddenly seems real, like of all the things Jack says and does, this is what he should be paying attention to.

"That’s the problem here, Rhys,” Jack continues. “They don’t _understand_ you. I mean, they seriously think you pulled a fast one on them. What a riot, am I right?” He lets out a derisive snort. “They're con artists — practically bandits — from that filthy planet, and they have the balls to act like they wouldn't have done the same to you, first chance they could."

"Hey, Fiona and Sasha aren’t bad. You know they’re my friends. They wouldn’t -" Rhys starts, a protest that escapes him without thought, but he falters as the Jack’s figure begins to flicker to the vibrating hum of his renewed laughter.

"Rhysie, cupcake, it's so cute how innocent you are, it really is. We're going to have to work on that," Jack says as the shake of his shoulders begins to settle into its usual crooked shrug. "Listen. You’re the ruler of Hyperion now. The bossman. You feel me? You’re better off without them.”

Rhys frowns. “But they’re the reason why I’m even here. I’d be dead without them.”

“So? You’d be dead without me, too. You’d _all_ be dead without me if I remember correctly — and trust me, I do.”

“You almost _killed_ us.”

“Details, kid.” Jack’s mask wrinkles, something between distaste and amusement. Rhys doesn’t try to guess. “You gotta focus on the point, and the point is, you definitely would have died there if you hadn’t handed me the reins.”

“Fiona had a plan, too -”

Jack silences Rhys with a finger. “Details,” he repeats. “The _point_ is, I was the one who got you out of there. And you’ve got to admit, it was pretty freaking awesome.”

Rhys purses his lips. “Maybe a little.”

“Aw, don’t act coy about it, cupcake. We were totally awesome.”

The corners of Rhys' lips twitch, despite himself. Jack is... well, he’s actually trying to be helpful in his own way, he realizes. It’s a little weird, but it’s not exactly bad, even if Jack’s definition of helping is a little skewed. "Okay, but I don't think there's anything wrong with trusting them, either. Just because I have the digital ghost of my dead boss in my head doesn't mean I have to ditch all my living friends."

Jack rolls his eyes back at him. "Oh really, you can't think of anything wrong?" He lets an exaggerated pause stretch between them, long enough for Rhys to think Jack might actually be giving him a chance to answer if he didn’t know any better. "How about the fact that you're the one with this fantastic view of Elpis' giant asscrack, while they're stuck staring at bars? Figuratively, of course. As if Hyperion holding cells would be that low-tech."

Neither visual is exactly pleasant. Rhys tries not to focus on either.

"I'm being serious, Jack," he says, eyebrows furrowing. Jack only laughs at him.

"Oh I know, pumpkin. That's what makes you so much fun. But sure, _seriously_ , let me show you.” Jack flashes his teeth at him once more, before he disappears. His voice projects from behind Rhys a second later, and Rhys follows the sound of it to see Jack standing in front of the window behind him, grinning at him with his arms outstretched. “See this? _This_ is a goddamn reason, and it’s all yours, baby.”

He blinks back to Rhys’ side, slinging an arm over his shoulder and gesturing out towards the expanse of space with his other. Rhys follows it, takes in the view of Elpis, its beautiful spirals of purple and its glowing scars of magenta, and beyond that, the cloudy nebulae twisting around in the darkness broken up by the twinkling stars. There isn’t a sight like this anywhere else, he knows.

And he knows what Jack is trying to show him, too.

He used to look at the moon from his old office, back before all of this happened, glances out his window that lingered too long and made him ache. He would look at it and think just how close to the top he was — if he could only get higher, it would be right within his grasp. Somehow it’s so much more real now, so much closer than it’s ever been, like he could reach out and touch it, squeeze it in his palm and feel it groan under his grip.

His fingers twitch at the thought.

“It _is_ a good view,” Rhys murmurs finally, tearing his gaze away.

"You bet,” Jack says, sounding triumphant. “You wanted power, and I've given you power, right at your little robo-fingertips. Literally! That hand of yours has access to every Hyperion secret your heart could possibly desire. You don’t need your _friends_." He sneers the word out as if it personally offends him before his voice drops lower. “Don’t look at me like that, Rhysie. I’m telling you this for your own good, from one stunningly handsome, intelligent guy to another: those Pandoran girls are bad news. For you, and for me. Think about what happened with your Hyperion girlfriend, hm? The one you beat with your big stick? _That_ was impressive.”

“That was… that’s totally not the same thing,” Rhys says, even as the memory of Yvette tears his thoughts from the view and twists an uncomfortable knot inside him, too fresh on his mind for him to push away that conspiratory whisper telling him _that’s what Hyperion does to you_. “You’re being unfair to them.”

“You can keep telling yourself that, but you don’t want that to happen again, do you?”

Rhys opens his mouth to say something, but Jack isn’t waiting for a reply. “And what about your other friend, the tiny bodybuilder? Just wait until he hears about your awesome adventures up on Helios while you just left him down with that smelly old guy on Pandora. He’s going to be so happy to hear about your sick promotion, _bro_.”

“He’d understand, he's my best friend,” Rhys says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just- leave Vaughn out of this, all right?”

Jack snaps his fingers. “Ah, right, Vaughn. He’d totally understand why you ditched him. He’ll realize it’s probably for the best, anyway. He was such a downer, always crying ‘ _Rhys, you’re so much cooler and hotter than I am_ ’ — never mind his twelve-pack, obviously, even your pretty legs and tight ass couldn’t compete against those — ‘ _please validate my existence by telling me what a good sidekick I am_.’ It was really getting on my nerves.”

“Knock it off.” Rhys scowls, prickling at Jack’s mocking accent, hating the way Jack enjoys riling him up on purpose and he falls for it every time, even though he knows. “Vaughn doesn’t even sound like that.”

“But you’re not denying it, huh?”

“He doesn’t act like that either!”

Jack chuckles, and Rhys feels himself flush warm with indignation. Hook, line, sinker, he thinks. Every time.

“Oh that’s a good look for you. Keep that up, pumpkin.”

Rhys huffs, trying to calm down, but Jack winks at him, tongue poking between his teeth, and he reddens for a different reason entirely before turning away, earning himself another laugh.

“Come on, Rhysie.” Jack’s face moves closer, following Rhys as Rhys leans back to keep some distance between them. “You know I’m right.”

Rhys holds up his hand between them as Jack continues to move in. Jack’s eyebrows curve as his eyes shift down to look at it. “Okay. Let me get this straight,” Rhys says with a long exhale. “You’re saying I should trust the AI of a guy who wanted to rid an entire planet of its population over my best friend.”

“Ouch. When you say it like that it sounds _bad_. And here I thought we’d gotten past that little detail. Your lack of faith cuts me real deep in my digital heart, babe.”

“You started it.”

"It’s different, pumpkin. We're partners here — you have to trust me," Jack says, leaning back and stretching his arms out imperiously. "We shared your head. Made a lot of memories together. Some of them I'll never forget — like when I tried to strangle you and you screamed like a little girl. Remember that?"

"I did _not_ scream like a girl."

"Oh, you so did. I remember it because it made me feel better about not being able to strangle you to death." The expression on his face brightens as he continues, "Or, remember that time you got punched in the face after- oh wait, that was me. Never mind. Still funny, though.”

Rhys groans, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands and rubs his temples instead. Jack grins back at him, all teeth, the corners of his lips curled up, and Rhys squeezes his eyes shut.

“Hey, perk up, cupcake. One of the guys working with that Atlas robot is supposed to be coming over any sec to give you a report, so you need to start looking alive.”

“Huh?” Rhys’ eyes blink open and he looks up, confused. “Why? Can’t they just send those to me?”

“Because I told them to, duh.” Jack makes a face. “Said to send you the biggest nerd there. Come on Rhys, keep up, I’m sure I told you. Or maybe I didn’t. Well, now you know.”

Rhys pushes down the urge to groan again. Knowing Jack, that’s the exactly the kind of reaction he’s looking for, and Rhys wants to end the day with some dignity still intact, as much as that might mean at this point.

There must be _something_ he can salvage here, anyway. For a brief moment he wonders if he could use this as a chance to get one of the researchers to figure out a way to get Gortys to forgive him, but immediately kicks himself for considering it. He’s not really sure where that falls on the moral spectrum for robots, but it would probably be better if he fixed things by himself. Patch things up with Fiona and Sasha too. He just has to figure out how.

He’s got time for that later, though. He's slowly getting used to his new position, and he's taking things one at a time, as they come.

Jack is still talking, he realizes, the voice jolting him out of his thoughts just in time for him to catch, “I don’t like dealing with these idiots either, but you’re the boss now, and you need to start showing them what you’re all about.”

“Sure. Okay, I can do that, whatever that means.” He straightens a little, preens his flesh hand through his hair, makes sure he hasn’t tucked his tie into his pants out of habit. There’s a part of him that’s actually looking forward to it a little, and especially likes the sound of the word _boss_ lingering in the air.

“That’s the spirit, Rhysie. What are you waiting for? Go sit your ass down in that chair and look important.”

And Rhys obliges, partly because the edge of the desk is starting to dig uncomfortably into his skin and partly because Jack is starting to seem that much more convincing. He feels Jack's gaze on him as he walks over, and can't help but puff a little under the attention as he settles himself down. The material of the chair molds to his body as if it was meant for him, and he revels in that thought.

It feels good. _Really_ good.

He hasn’t sat in Jack’s chair much, not since the first time, some part of him still processing the fact that it’s his to sit in whenever he pleases and not just a gaudy symbol of something out of his reach. It’s funny, now that he thinks about it, how things are now starting to work out for him, falling into place; the cogs of Hyperion are always spinning, spinning, under the surface, but now they’re spinning for him.

The thought makes him smile.

“Oh _yeah_ ,” Jack says, shooting him an appreciative look from the seat he’s taken across the desk. “You fill that chair out perfectly, babe. See, I knew you would fit right in.”

His grin must be reaching his ears by now. He feels like a kid again, restless and giddy, and it would be a little embarrassing if he stopped for a moment to care. Instead, he drums his fingers over the armrests, taking the way his metal hand matches the color of the chair, a perfect complement.

And Jack is still talking, a constant sound in Rhys' ears. "I made a _lotta_ good memories in this chair. Lemme tell you Rhys, this is going to be the best goddamn time of your life."

Yeah, Rhys thinks, he could get used to this.

* * *

The guy is late, but sure enough, Rhys gets alerted of his arrival not long after. Jack lets Rhys do the honors of letting their guest in, and there's something gratifying to be gleaned from the way the layers of security on the doors of the office peel away under Rhys’ coaxing fingers. It's effortless, everything laying itself bare for him with hardly even a thought spent.

Jack seems to be sharing his enthusiasm as well, going off on some mildly relevant tangent that probably has to do with the amazing tech in his office and the boner Rhys is going to pop over it. Rhys isn’t listening anymore, just smiling and letting the sound of it wash over him.

The office’s giant doors slide open smoothly, easily, and a man steps in, stopping just short of the last set of stairs leading to Rhys’ desk. He’s stout, dressed in a crisp Hyperion-issued coat Rhys recognizes from his glances across the halls of Helios, and introduces himself as “Dexter Reynolds, R&D, Vault Research Division” before adding, almost as an afterthought he’s just managed to remember, “Sir.”

“Wow, even his name sounds nerdy,” Jack says, unimpressed. Rhys snorts before he can catch himself and earns a raised eyebrow from the man across from him.

He coughs, ignoring Jack’s snicker and the heat creeping steadily up the nape of his neck. “Uh, okay. Reynolds. Let me hear it.”

A pause answers him. Rhys can tell Reynolds is a little more than put off to be addressing him rather than… whatever else he was expecting to be doing. It reminds him a little of Vasquez, actually, from the way he was always so self-assured of his importance to the condescending curve of his brows that always made Rhys want to puke in his mouth.

Well, Vasquez isn’t here anymore and Rhys is president now, so.

At least when Reynolds does talk, he's nothing like Vasquez — it's got that Hyperion-brand smugness, sure, but Rhys wouldn't have lasted this long if he weren't used to it. Even so, he's finding himself interested. This is a level of Hyperion he's never experienced before. Never had the chance to.

As it turns out, Jack could have spared him the experience altogether. From what he learns, Gortys has reverted to a dormant, self-defensive state, any progress towards finding the vault halted as they try to figure out how to proceed with a robot that's little more than a glorified paperweight in its current form, and the fault of it all lies on Rhys.

Which is just great. He's back at square one. Or maybe negative one.

_I really should talk to her_ , Rhys tells himself. He's just not sure it would help.

"Are you _listening_ to this guy?" Jack cuts in, making his way over to Reynolds and prodding him like he would a corpse. "Ugh. Reminds me why I would just space them. Actually, you should do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Rhys asks through his teeth, though it doesn’t prevent the odd glance sent his way. Again. “It’s going fine.”

Jack shakes his head. "Just look at him. No friggin’ respect from the moment he came in, and he can’t even do his job right. That’s not what we teach here at Hyperion.” His hands rest on his hips as he looks the man over with a critical stare. “If it were me, he’d be crapping his pants. But don't worry, Rhys, it’s not your fault. These guys just haven’t gotten the hint yet. We’ve just gotta work on it.”

_Work on what?_ Rhys wants to ask, but he bites his tongue, acutely aware that he should be focusing right now, even if Jack doesn’t seem interested in letting him.

He tries to make up for his lapse of attention by focusing back on Reynolds, but Jack is practically buzzing in the edge of his view, looking like he's ready to burst out of his skin, and it's putting Rhys on edge. Jack is unpredictable at best on a good day, but at least by now Rhys thinks he knows how to keep up. He likes to think that’s why Jack keeps him around.

Right now, though, it feels like he’s being dumped in the wasteland all over again.

Jack flickers once more. Rhys doesn’t have to look to know he’s reappeared in a familiar projection by him. A hand creeps into the edge of his vision, resting on his shoulder, and Jack’s voice is right next to his ear as he says, “Okay, first lesson: if someone doesn't respect you, you _make_ 'em respect you."

Rhys blinks, unsure what to make of that. Paying attention to anything that isn't Jack is a lost cause at this point. Whatever Reynolds is just background noise now, as he watches Jack's hand gesture at the desk from the corner of his eye and one of the drawers slides open to reveal something gaudy and yellow.

"Hyperion, latest model," Jack says. “Man, I’ve missed these things.”

Rhys risks a glance down and is greeted by the sight of a gun. He remembers seeing the prototypes not even a few days ago, but that doesn’t explain why it’s here, right in front of him.

“C’mon, pumpkin, pick it up. I want to see you blow this guy’s brains out.”

" _What?_ "

His voice echoes through the whole room, too loud for even his own ears. Reynolds pauses, looking annoyed at the interruption.

“Sorry,” Rhys says. He ducks his head to shoot Jack a sideways glare before bringing his attention back to Reynolds. “I, uh. I wanted to ask what's going to happen to Gortys? If she's going to be okay?”

Okay, that wasn't the best he could do, but his mind has a lot of other things to focus on right now and it's running short on him. And if the look he’s being given is anything to go by, Rhys might as well have just asked if the sky was green.

He doesn’t really hear the reply, and it doesn’t really matter. Not when he's too busy trying to grasp what's going on and with Jack still right next to him, voice drifting conspiratorially over his shoulder.

"Come on, trust me, this is going to be great," Jack says, voice thick and rumbling, laced with amusement. "What are you waiting for? Pick up the gun."

_Wait, okay, hold up_ , Rhys thinks, his mind reeling. _I'm going to need a pick up because you've officially lost me and I'm not coming back any time soon._

"You suddenly go deaf or are you just trying to join Ronald over here?" An edge creeps into Jack's tone, one that makes Rhys' hair stand on end. “Don’t get cold feet on me here, pumpkin. This is going to be your _moment_.”

_Where is this even coming from?_ Rhys opens his mouth. He doesn't even have time to even think about what he’d say before his metal hand moves towards the open drawer, pulling his body up and along with it. A flash of panic rushes through him when he tries to stop it but receives no response.

"Hey," he hisses, feeling his pulse race. He tries to grip and pull the hand down with his left, but it doesn’t budge. "What are you -"

"That's better," comes the appreciative hum as his fingers reach in and wrap around the gun, metal against metal. "Yeah, that looks _real_ nice."

“...Sir?”

Reynold’s bemused voice reigns him in. Rhys looks back, sure he must look utterly insane with one arm grasping blindly at his desk, the other clutching it, his eyes wide. He wonders what must be showing on his face at that moment, whether the confusion he's looking at is mirrored on his own face. Behind him, he can hear Jack laughing.

His mouth opens to say something, _everything is fine, I've just got the ghost of Handsome Jack in my head but it's under control, I swear_ , but nothing comes out.

"Ohh, Rhysie, keep watching. You're going to love this part," Jack says with an absolute glee that sends a shiver up Rhys' spine. Blatantly ignoring Rhys' confusion and reveling in his own chaos, Rhys thinks in frustration.

"Jack, wait," Rhys says. He cranes his head to look at Jack. "Hold on. What are you doing?"

Jack grins wide, and Rhys notices for the first time just how sharp his teeth are. "Relax, kid. I'm going to show you what it really means to be the boss around here."

He tries to tug at the metal again, coax it down, but he's frozen, he can't move, and his arm moves up, up. Of all the things he expected him to betray him in Hyperion, his own _arm_ hadn’t been one, Rhys thinks dimly as he watches as it jerks and aims, finger curling over the trigger -

The gunshot is loud but the surprised scream that accompanies it even louder, ringing in his ears even after the sound had stopped reverberating off the walls. Rhys can feel his pulse drum with it.

There’s a fluttering in his chest and blood pounding through his entire body, but he _still_ can’t feel his arm.

A movement catches his eye. Reynolds' hand flies to his shoulder as he bends, groaning, and Rhys feels a heavy breath leave him as he realizes the man is still alive.

“Missed,” Jack’s voice drifts from over his shoulder, all too cheerful and dismissive. He can almost feel the breath against his neck, ghosting over the hairs. "First time with one of these, eh? It's okay, kid. Just gotta make the next one count."

"Next one?" Rhys echoes. Tries not to notice how Reynolds is looking at him with shock and bewilderment and _fear_ as the fingers clutching his shoulder begin to run red. Rhys' fingers are twitching around the gun, and he watches with fascination as they lift up, once more, and aim in one, much too fluid motion.

"Wait -"

The bang doesn't register over the blood roaring through his skull, yet it floods through him like lightning, igniting his nerves, into his fingertips. It’s only when he sees the dark pool forming on the polished floor that he realizes what he’s just done.

"That's it, Rhysie. Couldn't have done it better myself." Jack’s laughter rings in his ears. "You can feel it, can't you? That rush through your veins? That's power, baby."

The body on the floor is twitching, but he can't bring himself to look away. Rhys thinks he feels a shudder pass through him, and he only knows it for sure when he looks down to see the gun unsteady in his grip, finally moving to his own command.

Jack just- _he_ just shot someone.

The gun drops out of his palm, and Rhys brings his now empty hand up, shakes it out, glad when it obeys him. It feels like blood is flowing back into his veins, like his arm was numb and now suddenly there's feeling again.

"Let's just hope these guys are as smart as they're supposed to be and get the message the first time," Jack says, his voice cutting into Rhys’ thoughts. "Ugh, I forgot what a mess they make. Don’t forget to call someone in to clean that up."

Rhys doesn’t look at Jack, doesn't turn his gaze away from his hand, tasting bile in the back of his throat. Jack’s words don’t sound right to his ears, too far removed from the nausea pooling in his gut at the thought of the blood and brains on the floor, and somewhere in the back of his mind he's starting to realize just what the dissonance he’s been picking up on is.

“You _planned_ that.”

Jack hums, and Rhys frowns at the lack of denial.

“That was pretty fun, Rhysie. Did you see that nerd’s face? I forgot how good it feels to wipe those stupid shit-eating expressions off of them.” Rhys’ fingers flex, open and close. “You know, as much as I like being an entire freaking space station, having a body is still pretty sweet too.”

“Not _your_ body anymore. Stop that,” Rhys says, clenching his fist so tightly he’s sure it’s going to leave a dent, but at least it doesn’t move against his will again. “I can’t believe you just- oh my god.”

“What? Guns aren’t your thing? We can figure something else out next time, maybe get R&D to prototype some better options for your stick. And by that I mean lethal ones, obviously.”

“No! _Not_ next time,” Rhys says. “There shouldn’t have even been a _this_ time.”

“Wait, are you upset?” Jack peers curiously at him before laughing. “I know you’re like a little baby when it comes to the blood and guts and stuff, but it's life, cupcake," he says with an easy shrug of his shoulders. "Well, maybe not so much for Reynolds over here, _ha_.”

Rhys shakes his head. “Oh my god,” he says again, a hysteria beginning to bubble up inside of him. He thinks he might just laugh from how insane it all is. “That was- that was so uncalled for. He didn’t even do anything.”

“Nah,” Jack agrees. “That’s just how it goes. Some guys aren’t performing up to snuff, you pick off a couple of them, and suddenly they can all do their jobs. It’s like magic. We’re like friggin’ magicians here, Rhys.”

And the way Jack says it is so casual, so absurdly _Jack_ , he does actually laugh.

Rhys has stabbed enough backs during his time with Hyperion to know exactly how it goes. It’s nothing personal, not really. Just getting ahead. Except Rhys is already ahead, passed everyone and left them in the dust. It isn’t backstabbing anymore, just sport. Just doing it because he _can_.

This is what it feels like, he thinks. To be like Vasquez, like Vallory, like _Jack_.

His fingers are still twitching.

No, he thinks absently, it's not the death or the killing. That was something he'd gotten used to long ago. He wouldn't have survived on Pandora without getting used to a little of either. But down there, it was a necessity — kill or be killed. Down there, he didn't have a choice.

His time on Pandora had kept him on his toes, constantly looking over his shoulder for new threats, the reality that his body may very well sink into the dust of the planet and never leave always pressing upon his mind. Up here on Helios, however, it’s different. It's subtle. Here he's wrapped in a safety that could disappear at any moment. Helios writhes with secrets everywhere, fills his veins with electricity, with power, little voices tugging at the corner of his mind.

Or maybe it’s just Jack’s.

"That's the spirit, Rhys," Jack says cheerfully. His hand pats down on Rhys' shoulder, guiding him back down into the chair. Rhys hadn't even realized he was standing. "Been looking forward to this for a long time, and let me tell you, that did _not_ disappoint."

There's something he should probably say, something he needs to say, but wave of _something_ crashes through his system the moment his back hits the chair, drowning out his thoughts, and he gasps at the sudden feeling.

"Oh yeah, I upped the endorphin output a little," Jack says. "Maybe a lot. Figured you'd need it. You're welcome, Mister Big Shot President. Don't get used to it, though. Can't have you getting too out of it; this chair is meant to be appreciated."

Rhys stares back at the self-satisfied grin plastered across the projection in front of him, the animated face staring back at him. It’s not really registering anymore, though. His head is filling with clouds, and he’s got a distant feeling there’s something else flooding into his system too.

“Now I’m not going to say this twice, so you better park your perky ass down in that seat and listen up, okay? I like you, Rhys. Your continued success is important to me, and that's not something I say to just anyone. So everything I’m telling you — all of this? It’s part of the job. If you’re going to rule this universe, you’ve got to be willing to get rid of everything that holds you back, and that includes your friends. Think of this as the first step in consolidating your reign.”

Jack’s hands are still on his shoulders, and it’s ridiculous how Rhys can’t feel them, how he knows they would pass right through him, yet at the same time it's as if he can feel the press of Jack’s palms against him, like the air itself is holding him down, trying to drown him.

“Now, that was a pretty good show back there,” Jack continues, nodding at the body now out of Rhys’ own view. He’s glad for that. “There are a lot of guys who think this is some kind of trick — like anyone could possibly program _me_ — who don't see you for what you are: the boss. So, you just have to show them you mean business.”

Jack might have a point, Rhys concedes as his eyelids droop heavily. Like he usually does. Trying to be helpful in his weird-not-bad way. Maybe he didn't go about it in the best way, but there _is_ a point, and that must be important. He just has to focus on that.

He thinks he might have fallen asleep by the way he's not sure how much time passes — if it even passes at all. All he knows is that somewhere in between his eyes fall closed and he can feel himself rising and falling to the rhythm of his breaths, and it's nice.

* * *

When he opens his eyes again, Jack is still there.

"Oh good, you're still with me," Jack says. "I was just thinking about waking you up."

Rhys blinks. Jack is really close, both his hands on the sides of the chair and leaning in. Maybe it’s the haze in his head still messing with him but he feels _good_ , and he’s pretty sure he’s smiling at Jack for a reason he doesn’t understand.

Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s done today, at least, so it can't be anything worth worrying about.

"That chair really did a number on you, huh? Gonna remember that for next time.” When Rhys doesn’t move, Jack’s nose wrinkles. “Still not with me, then. Come on, rise and shine, princess, I haven’t got all day."

Rhys winces and shifts in the chair, pulling himself into a better position and feeling at least half of the joints inside him pop. Jack watches with an uncharacteristic patience as Rhys waits for feeling to return to the rest of him and his mind to catch up.

“So, I had a lot of time to think while you were out,” Jack says conversationally. “Let’s talk about the future, Rhys. You, me, Hyperion." He leans back and crosses his arms. Rhys can feel the loss of his presence, curling tangibly in the space between them. “I think you’re probably right about the guns. They’re too messy. Strangling was always more of my thing. Unless we make some cool new fiery explodey guns that melt people's faces off — then we _have_ to try.”

“‘M not really sure about strangling,” Rhys says, but it feels more like a lazy slur than any comprehensible combination of words after so long. He’s surprised it comes out at all. “My last attempt didn’t go so well.”

“Are you kidding? That arm of yours was _made_ for squeezing people’s necks until their eyes pop out of their little heads.” 

Rhys grimaces. He could do without the image, even if it's so absurd he can hardly be squeamish over it. He was never too good with this stuff. "Can you... not say it like that?"

“Oh come on, you can’t possibly tell me you haven’t thought about it, cupcake — how nice your hand would look wrapped around a neck.” Jack makes a motion and extends his arm towards Rhys’ metal one. It matches his movement, coming up to meet him halfway. “Really, it’s a great piece of tech you have here. Gorgeous. And of course it’s Hyperion; nothing but the best. It would be such a shame to let it go to waste.”

Rhys' breath hitches. “Stop _doing_ that,” he says with a frown.

Jack ignores him and instead takes his time playing with Rhys’ arm, exercising each finger, rotating the wrist, checking the articulation of the elbow, even though none of it could possibly be new to him. Rhys tries not to fidget under the scrutiny and focuses instead on how the lighting in the room bounces odd hues off his yellow — _Hyperion yellow_ , his mind helpfully adds.

When Jack looks up again, much too long after, his attention is right below Rhys’ jaw. Rhys watches warily as his expression lights up, for just a brief moment, before his hand extends out towards Rhys.

Even though he _knows_ Jack can't touch him, Rhys still recoils. Jack's hand clutches empty air, and he peers at Rhys with a raised eyebrow. Rhys manages to belatedly think, _bad idea_ , before Jack motions once more for Rhys' arm.

"I say we test it out," Jack says. "What do you think, Rhys?"

"I think we've... done enough testing for today," Rhys says, eyeing his own prosthetic warily, waiting for Jack's next move. It doesn't get any less uncomfortable, every time this happens. Too many variables, too many ways to go wrong. Like he's surrendering himself to the unknown force that is Jack's will.

Jack seems to consider that for a moment with a tilt of his head. Rhys almost lets himself be optimistic until Jack flexes his fingers and stretches his arm towards Rhys again. Rhys watches as his metal palm comes to a rest above his heart and fingers splay against his chest, over the tattoo there, and tries not to think about how foreign his own hand feels, how if he closed his eyes it would feel like Jack.

"C'mon, don’t you want to know, Rhysie?” Jack says. Rhys can practically feel him vibrating with excitement. “How it feels to have this kind of power? The power you’ve always dreamed of?”

_Power_. Rhys rolls the word over in his mind, tests the sound of it, the way it thrums just like his pulse under his skin, coiled in that way that seems so natural for Jack. And Jack knows. He must, because he’s the one who gave Rhys that power.

Cold fingers warm to his touch as they trail up his collarbone, his neck, leaving behind pinpricks on his skin. They tilt his chin up and squeeze lightly under his jaw, testing, and Rhys’ breath catches in his throat.

He meets Jack’s gaze again and- _it’s a bad idea_ , he thinks again, a little too late, because Jack is staring at him, not just in the way he usually does with his eyebrows curved, the corners of his lips curling wickedly, but _staring_ at him.

“Um,” Rhys says, swallows, “are you -”

Jack’s eyes darken, his only warning before his fingers narrow down right above his pulse. Rhys’ words choke off with a gasp.

_Okay_ , he thinks, _this is happening. This is happening and it’s getting weird_. Except he wishes he knew what this was. A test, maybe — something to do with Jack’s words from before. An exercise in power, even. Or, just Jack’s nebulous whim.

He watches Jack’s eyes, as if they’ll answer him if he stares hard enough, as if any of this will make sense. As if any part of _today_ will make sense. They stare back at him, pupils wide, and Rhys thinks he's not sure he wants to know anymore.

“I told you,” Jack says. “You should see yourself right now, Rhysie. _Man_ , I’m a genius.”

Rhys shudders, less from the thought and more from the sound of Jack’s voice. “Okay,” he breathes out, though it’s more likely being squeezed out of him. “Yeah- you made your point, Jack.”

“My point,” Jack parrots. “Nah, I don’t think so. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

_The good part?_ Rhys thinks, and then: _oh, right, okay_ , as Jack squeezes hard enough to send sparks through his vision.

He gives up trying to understand what’s going through Jack’s mind and instead counts the time that passes by the beating of his heart, so loud in his throat he’s sure Jack would be able to feel it, so frantic he thinks his blood might burst from his veins. He can feel his nerves scrambling, setting themselves alight each time he gasps for air and can't find nearly enough. His skin burns under his own touch, a tightness growing in his chest. A lazy fire coiling in his stomach.

Jack doesn’t relent, his grip growing tighter and tighter until a quickly slipping corner of Rhys’ mind tells him, _this is serious. Jack is actually going to kill me_. As far as deaths go, at least it could be worse.

And then Jack lets out a breath.

“Whoa there,” Jack says. “This is my favorite part too and all, but you’re getting a little too excited for me here, cupcake.”

Jack’s voice projects weirdly, like it’s getting lost somewhere below him. Confused, Rhys follows the sound down and- _huh_.

Sure. Okay, everyone gets inappropriate erections sometimes. Rhys just happens to get them while he’s being strangled by his own hand and starting to feel like he’s losing it.

The pressure on his neck lifts, and Rhys gasps as air floods into his lungs. He coughs, feels himself bending in half as he tries to suck air back into his lungs. There are stars prickling the edge of his vision, dancing away from him.

When it clears, he looks down again. His erection has flagged a bit, but the bulge is still there, straining traitorously against his pants. Dimly, Rhys is glad his brain is lagging on him, still catching up, or else this would be really embarrassing.

“Tell me, babe, which part are you getting off on? The choking, or being choked?” Jack laughs, but it’s shakier than Rhys has ever heard it. There’s something dark in it, something feral that makes Rhys’ blood freeze. “Or is it just me?”

And Rhys… has no idea how he would answer that. Jack probably doesn't need the answer anyways. If anything, he probably knows.

_Just you_ , he thinks. Maybe more. He’s not so sure anymore.

When he doesn’t reply, the hand returns. Rhys flushes warmer, cursing the damning way he twitches with interest.

"I’d say it’s surprising to see the blood that doesn't go to your brain goes straight to your dick, but it’s really not," Jack says idly. "Explains a lot, actually."

Jack doesn’t continue where he left off, only touches his neck with light fingers and strokes, watching the way Rhys holds his breath with an unreadable expression. It's doing more to Rhys than he would ever admit, especially to Jack, and he hopes Jack can't tell how he’s burning, from the inside out.

"I get it, you're too stunned to answer. I've squeezed the brains right outta you. But hey, nothing to be embarrassed about, babe; I'm Handsome Jack," Jack says. "Gotta admit, though, I like the look on you."

And then Jack is leaning in and the hand is trailing lower and then it's _right there_ , and Rhys could probably sink into the floor right there if he weren't trying to buck up, against the pressure, trying to get more. Jack’s laughter in his ear only makes something deep in his gut flare.

"You've probably thought about it before, haven't you? Me and you, in this chair. Or do you prefer over the desk?"

The hand grinds down on him and an embarrassing noise escapes Rhys, something between a groan and a gasp. He tries to swallow it down, but the damage is already done.

“Yeah? You like that? Of course you do." Jack barks a laugh. "Now, why don't you tell me what's going through your mind right now? Tell me what you really want."

_What do_ you _want?_ Rhys wonders instead. Jack's attention is growing unbearable and he's still not sure of its intent. If he's just being played with again. He covers his eyes with his flesh arm and squeezes them shut.

"No, that won't do." Jack pries his hand away. "Use your mouth, Rhysie."

Rhys mentally curses, wondering just how far Jack is trying to go, just what he's trying to accomplish with whatever this is. His tongue feels like sandpaper, dry against the roof of his mouth as he says, "I- you- my hand."

"Oh hey, so it does work. I was beginning to think your mouth was useless." Jack licks his teeth. “We’re getting closer now, pumpkin, just tell me what to do. C'mon, show me how a boss does things around here."

Rhys swallows and inhales. "Stop being an ass and _do_ something already."

Jack chuckles, and the touch returns with intent, pushing at his skin, seeing how far Rhys will let him go. A finger traces his bottom lip, the rest tapping along his jaw.

It's infuriating, how Rhys needs more, how Jack has been leading him on this ride all day and Rhys still isn't entirely sure it's a bad thing. There’s a voice in his head telling him if Jack wanted him dead he would be floating halfway to Elpis already, and another telling him Hyperion is going to eat him alive. He thinks if someone were to walk in on him right now they'd think he was going insane, and he feels just as crazy as it must seem.

It's Jack, he thinks, for sure this time. Only Jack.

For once, Jack has nothing to say back at him. He only grunts before Rhys' hand comes around his neck once more, lazy at first, and then bares right down on him with a practiced precision that cuts any rational thought off right there and makes Rhys keen.

The pressure releases, just for a moment, leaving Rhys panting. The rise and fall of Jack's chest has gone still. He doesn’t stop to think about what that means.

He's so hard it hurts.

"Ohh, you like that, Rhysie?" Jack asks throatily. "It's a shame I don't have my own body anymore. You would look so _good_ under me."

Jack's words are torture to his ears. Rhys grits his teeth, pulling at his pants with his flesh hand as Jack strokes his skin. A shudder passes through him as he gets himself free, conscious of Jack's gaze upon him as he gets his hand around his cock and strokes.

“That's better. Much better. I can’t say I don’t like you like this,” Jack says, eyeing Rhys appreciatively. “Honestly, I was getting close to strangling you anyways. Here I am — _me_ , Handsome Jack — giving you some great goddamn advice on how to rule Hyperion, and you just up and cry about it. Boo hoo, my poor friends, boo I didn't want to shoot this loser in the face — seriously, Rhys. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I’m not about to see you throw it away because of some other fucking nobody.”

And Rhys is just barely processing those words, his thoughts swimming in a haze around him. He's only dimly aware that his grasp around himself has slowed, almost forgotten as he trembles under the pressure on his neck, unsure which sensation will reward him first.

“I chose you, Rhys. Nobody else. Not your friend Vaughn, not Ronald over there, not some other Hyperion shitstain, _you_." Jack's voice is just barely a snarl, so low Rhys can hardly understand beyond the weightless flutter in his chest. "Now are you going to fucking start trusting me?”

Rhys makes a noise that isn’t quite words, isn’t quite _no_. Jack gives him one last squeeze before his hand moves down, down, nudging his flesh hand away as soon as it reaches the base of his stomach. Jack wraps his hand around Rhys’ cock, his touch hard and bruising, just enough to make Rhys gasp.

The hand feels like Jack — rough, furious, unforgiving. Jack reaches right into him, holds onto the very fiber of his being and doesn’t let go, only grinds into him tighter -

Rhys comes with a shudder to that thought and the sound of Jack’s encouragement humming through him, electricity flooding through his veins. As the wave passes over him, he slumps into his chair, breath condensing in the air and his heartbeat still in his throat. When his eyes open again, Jack is in front of him, propped on the edge of the desk, one ankle over his knee, watching him unblinkingly. He looks infuriatingly unruffled by everything that's just happened, while Rhys is certain he’s far from it himself.

He manages a shaky smile. Doesn’t quite know what the etiquette is, doesn’t really have any cues to go on, so he settles with that. He feels hollowed out, filled with thousands of tiny fireworks going off in his chest, and he’s sure he’s not recovering from this any time soon.

“I’m thinking we get you fitted with a new arm,” Jack is saying. “Something real nice. Chrome. Give it some new settings. Something that we can have some _real_ fun with.”

His hand is messy with come. He stares at it and thinks yeah, he kinda likes the sound of that before wiping it off on his pants and slumping deeper into his chair. Jack's voice is- strange to hear after that. A little raw. Rhys thinks he likes that sound too.

Jack’s gaze flickers from the dark spot in Rhys’ pants to his face. "You going to stay there all day? Or are you going to get the cleaning crew to wipe you up along with that mess on the floor? 'Cause they can totally do that. You're the boss."

"Yeah," Rhys manages to say, to his own surprise. "Yeah, I guess I am."

The grin that spreads across Jack's face is triumphant, proud, _delighted_ , and it sends a fuzzy warmth through him. He knows by the ache of his cheeks that he's tentatively smiling back.

Jack lets out a booming laugh and grasps the sides of Rhys’ hair, coaxing Rhys forward with the force of his presence alone, and he leans in as if to press a kiss to his head but stops just short. It's close enough that Rhys thinks he might even feel Jack's breath against his skin, against his hair.

"I knew I chose well," Jack says, resting his forehead against Rhys’ so that their noses could touch. “We are a great goddamn team, Rhys.”

"A team," Rhys repeats, letting his eyes fall closed.

There's a churning deep in his gut that he pushes down, savoring instead the tingling feeling that Jack's proximity sends through him, the memory of his words from just before, and the image of them ruling Hyperion together. He has time to worry about the specifics later. Right now, he's taking things as they come. That's what he's always done and it's never failed him.

He’s going to make it work, one way or another.

"It's you and me, baby." Jack's voice echoes from all around, inside and out, crawling up Rhys' spine. "And we're going to have _so_ much fun."


End file.
